first date foibles

We had arranged to meet at 8PM at XYZ restaurant in DTLA. I had texted him my ETA (right on motherf*cking time) as I was leaving my house. I arrived just at 8, and had parked and was walking up to the restaurant at 8:05. When I entered the restaurant, it was moderately fine dining, and the host asked me if I had a reservation. I said I was meeting someone and I wasn't sure if he was here already. She offered to walk me through the restaurant to see if he was already seated. The restaurant and bar had only a smattering of people, so it was easy to see he wasn't there yet. We retreated to the lobby where I sat on the bench to wait for him. I texted him that I was at XYZ restaurant. He replied he would be there in 5 minutes.
*try not to be annoyed that he knew your ETA, it was now approx 7 minutes after the appointed time, and he still needed 5 more minutes to get to the place HE chose*
Ok, no prob. *waits* 

Another text:

Do you mind if I stop at the ATM real quick?

*try not to be fucking annoyed that he didn't take care of that BEFORE the date that he arranged*
*text girlfriend for moral support*
*take a deep breath and reply*

Reply text:

Are you fucking kidding me

You're already late of course I don't mind waiting longer

First you make me drive to you, then you are late, now this???

Ok.

 *texts girlfriend again for moral support. she urges a second chance; maybe he's nervous*

He calls.... no, he didn't mean for you to wait in the restaurant! Of course he wants you to come with him! And then you can decide where to go for dinner as we walk to the bank. *deep breath and smile*

We start to walk a few blocks to get to the bank/atm. He is tall and handsome and charming and walks on the outside and opens the door for you at the bank. Ok fine, let's overlook the first foible.

We decide on a little taco place that he likes because it is female and latina owned/operated and he likes supporting those types of businesses. *ok that is sweet and the right thing to do* Plus the tacos are to-die-for delish. I think, well, even if this doesn't go well I've learned of an amazing new taco spot. (Chicas Tacos) But it is going well. We are noshing and chatting about all kinds of things, connecting, finding common ground. He is redeeming himself posthaste.

We sat at that little red table.

Now Chicas doesn't serve alcohol, so he suggests walking to a bar he loves, if I'm open to spending more time with him. I am. We head down to Rudolph's Bar & Tea at the Freehand Hotel. It is gorgeous. Totally decked out mid-century modern (my fave) and they have specialty cocktails made with tea. Strange, but still pretty tasty. We have a drink there and are still having a great time. About halfway through the drink he attempts a kiss. Uhm, NO. Hold your horses bro. I tell him I don't kiss on the first date. (yes, sometimes I do, but as a rule, I don't. If you want all the reasons, that will have to be another time. I could give a whole dissertation of male/female expectations vs reality and hyper-sexualization and unsubstantiated intimacy) I can now see through the lens of hindsight that this was my first red flag.

From the get-go Dan was very affectionate. Holding my hand, touching my lower back, etc as we walked down the street. He said that was so no nefarious characters would mess with me. *sweet* At the restaurant and the bar, he is very complimentary. You are so sweet, so funny, the smartest woman I've met in a very long time. I can see this working out. I feel quite flattered, and my ego is massively enjoying the adulation. This is what I want, I think. I want a guy who thinks I hung the moon! My gut is nagging me though. How can he feel this strongly when we have spent barely two hours together.

He wants to go to another bar. They have live music, and we are having such a good time. We leave Rudolph's and walk to another bar I cannot remember the name of. I have a second drink, he does not. We laugh, we snuggle in a booth, we have a great time. He is still very vocal about how he feels about me. It almost makes me uncomfortable, because I am so unaccustomed to hearing such honeyed words.

It was late, and longer than I usually spend on a first date (gotta leave them wanting more, right?) so Dan walks me to my car. At the car, I am swayed, plus I really want to, so I give him a smooch. It is nice and he asks when he can see me again. (It is a Wednesday) and I tell him Monday. This is not some BS where he has to "earn" weekend dates (yes apparently some gals do that), I was just truly busy every single night till Monday.

Second red flag:

Oh so you're one of those girls.

What do you mean by that?!?

One of those girls who are always busy and I never get to see you.  

He starts to back away as if to leave.

No, wait! *why are you shrinking from me; we are having a fantastic time* I'm just actually busy this weekend until Monday. It just happens to be that way this week. Some weeks I am crammed busy, some weeks I have literally nothing going on outside of work. My schedule can be really varied.

Oh, OK. Well I guess Monday it is then. 

We agree that we will touch base to make a decision on what to do closer to Monday. I offer to drive him back to his house. That is when I find out that the reason he gave me the XYZ restaurant to meet at is because it is in the first floor of his apartment building.

YOU LAZY MOTHERF*CKER YOU DIDN'T EVEN LEAVE YOUR APARTMENT UNTIL I TEXTED YOU I WAS WAITING FOR YOU???? FUCK YOU. But of course I don't say this out loud. I have had a wonderful first date and if this is his only fault... well, that really isn't so bad. Nobody is perfect, and I am willing to embrace certain human flaws, especially if they can be fixed.

He promises the second date he will come to me...

bumbling through bumble

In a most likely misguided attempt at making dating better, I tried a different app. Because, you know, a different app will have different results. Riiigghhhhtttt. Anyway at least with bumble they make you feel like you, as the woman, have some power in the situation. Which of course is not true. You are just forced to make the first move, which in my mind only encourages the laziness of men because they can just sit around and wait for you to message them. *run on sentence* *don't care*

This is not supposed to be a rant about the laziness of men in the dating scene. Fuck.

OK! So I matched with Dan* on the bumbles, came up with a sufficiently witty opening line, and he actually replied! Woohoo! Win #1 in the horrible land of dating apps. What a sad commentary on the state of dating that even getting a reply is a reason to celebrate. ugh. (bitter betty party of ONE)

conversation started! hooray!

Dan is tall, handsome, and seemingly super smart. A VR software engineer, masters from USC, varied interests that include art, science, music, politics, etc. He seems dreamy on paper (well, on app). We message back and forth a bit on the app. He still seems pretty amazing. Smart, funny, and most important - he is actually responding and engaged in conversation. I let myself get a little bit excited about possibly meeting someone in person.

how do I do what?

We exchange numbers and continue with our messaging via text. We don't just message forever and never actually meet in person. He actually asks me out!! Truly a feat in and of itself. Now, I've been stood up 3 times just this year, so as far as dates, I believe it when I see the man in person.

He lives and works in DTLA (downtown Los Angeles) and I live in the San Fernando Valley. For the rest of the world that doesn't live in Los Angeles, this city is so large that you feel like you have a long distance relationship if the person lives more than about 15 miles away from you because 15 miles in traffic can take over an hour. We here in the city of Lost Angels always talk about dating someone that is "geographically desirable." If the person lives too far away, you will literally never see them. The love of my life might be in Los Angeles, but I will never know his adoring gaze because he lives in a neighborhood on the other side of town.

PERSONAL TRADE AREA. Don't live in this box? buh-bye

YOU'RE. You might be geographically desirable but you're not grammatically desirable. 

Dan takes the lead (thankfully) and arranges for the date. He asks me to meet him at a particular restaurant in DTLA. We might not actually go there, he says, but there are a ton of places in walking distance and we can decide when we meet.

Now normally I would prefer the guy come to my neighborhood, or at least meet in the middle, but I am so excited to actually have a date (can you tell that most of my matches don't ever come to anything???) that I over look this small transgression. Besides, DTLA isn't outside my acceptable geography. I agree to the terms of the date and get ready.

Showered, fluffed up, dressed in a casual but cute first date outfit complete with "walking heels" I make my way to downtown...continued in the next post...

Definition of "walking heels": When I lived in NYC women had two types of heels: walking heels and taxi shoes. Taxi shoes are usually sky high, sexy, and completely impractical. Walking heels are reasonably comfortable, suitable for dancing the night away, traipsing through the streets while still retaining a sense of femininity and sex appeal. 

taxi heels

walking heels

a year and a half later...

I think I got tired of posting the same shit wrapped up differently that I stopped posting. Dating sucks. Blah Blah Blah. Work sucks. Blah Blah Blah. And even less interesting, I have a great job and a boyfriend. blah blah blah

I suppose I should have worked harder on making my life different or more interesting, but instead I succumbed to the monotony of shitty dating in LA and eking out a living wage. Which I must say, earning a living wage in LA is no small feat when you are doing the side hustle jobs and your "career" doesn't have a straightforward trajectory like more classic choices. And said "career" doesn't exactly "pay" when you are not "famous." Or it does "pay" but the "pay" is "deferred" until the film/show/short/webseries/whatever makes money, which is usually "never."

Anyway, I digress.

I have been dating, and working a job that doesn't suck. The dating, well, that pretty much has stayed sucky. I have been stood up THREE times this year and ghosted I couldn't even tell you how many times. I am absolutely sick and tired of guys who just don't even seem to try. Uhm, hello??? We matched, we chatted, and then.... *poof*

Or we match and don't even chat before *poof*

I long for the days where a guy actually had to come up with the nerve to call you. At least then they were partially invested and had a small iota of follow through. Maybe it might even culminate in a date!!

Pretty sure this is how old timey phones worked.

ANYWAY I say all this to preface the next post where I will regale you with the tale of crazy-pants Dan* who managed to hide his crazy for nearly 3 full dates before it came out faster than a dick-pic from an online troll and with more 180˚ turnaround than a bought-and-paid-for politician after election.

*name changed to protect the crazy. 

Botox, baby

I have never claimed to be a fashionista, or an advertising maven, or costuming expert. I have my basic uniform of t-shirt and jeans that I wear most days, swapping out for a tank in the hottest days and a button down shirt or plain sweater in the winter. It's pretty basic (but not BASIC, uhm-kayyyy??).

So even though we have now thoroughly established I'm no clothing expert, I am appalled every time the Botox for migraines ads come on TV. The lead gal they cast is *basically* (pun intended) beautiful, and does a reasonable job pretending to walk around migraine-free.

"I need a venti soy half-caff extra hot PSL stat!"

But. Her. Outfit. It is the most unflattering, ugly, horrendously dated frumpy thing I've ever seen. Boxy, blousy, too-big, droopy button down shirt tucked in to frumpy, pleated, too-big, cankle-length khaki pants.

Maybe if I put my hands on my waist you'll know I have one...

They have taken a reasonably attractive woman who likely has a "perfect" body under that mess and made her look like a lumpy dumpy homely frump-meiser. That costumer should be fired! S/he obviously has a grudge against this poor lady who is just trying to make a dollar for herself by doing a really stupid Botox ad.

*just think about the paycheck. smile for the paycheck. moneymoneymoneymoney*

I mean, look at this woman! She more than likely has a body most women would kill for and you can't even see it under all those pleats and poufy clothes. She might not have migraines anymore but she has a headache from looking at herself in the mirror.

new chonies

I got an email this week from a popular sweatshop-made underwear store (I'd tell you the name but then it wouldn't be a Secret...) telling me I could get new underdraws for the bargain price of 5 for $15! Three bucks a pair? Extending the time between laundry drudgery by five glorious days?

Plus, Vicki usually charges $28 for five pairs of drawers. I am a frugalista at her finest, and saving $13 was enough to make me brave the mall and all the trolls and kids and other horrible excuses for humanity that reside there.

I head straight to the undie store and weave craftily among the women with strollers and toddlers, the ladies clutching their winning scraps of fabric, only to realize that the "deal" underwear was a clever ruse to get me in for their semi-annual sale. And since the sale has been going on for a while all that was left of size medium were the strangest, ugliest chonies you ever saw in your life. And far too many "bride" rhinestone encrusted lacey bits. I even looked through the other sizes to see if somehow some magical set of size medium cute (or even wearable) skivvies were hiding from me. Not a decent foundation garment to be found. F*ck you Vicki, you lying vindictive little con artist. (Bitter Betty, underwear-less party of one)

Since I was at the mall, I figured I should at least stroll around to a couple of the stores and see if anyone had any wayyyy after Christmas sales where a thrifty princess could find some swag. As I swiftly mall-walked I realized if anyone heard the thoughts in my head I could be put away in jail, nay, solitary confinement in jail.

The middle-aged couple stumbling along, managing to take up the entire walkway weaving about, would have been stabbed in the head to be out of my way. The angsty-goth twenty-somethings I mentally shoved into the cement fountain. The darling elderly couple who stopped completely blocking the path between sweaters at the Gap would have been punched in the neck. The women unwrapping the noisiest hard candy in Macy's would have had the mint shoved down their throats and choked to death.

I'm a really nice person. Ask anyone. Super nice. So when I was mentally cursing the designer of the escalators and their insignificant pea-brain for installing them opposite of how I would have I knew it was time to leave.

This is why I rarely go to the mall anymore. This is why online shopping is great. I like being not in jail. And slow, inconsiderate, annoying, f*cktards can still go to the mall in peace.

kissing frogs

My Romcom-in-Real-Life Romance was short lived, as Hank* was unable to follow through on his romantic gestures. I was disappointed to say the least, but at least I found out quickly.

Next came Tony*. He was a tall, successful, ruggedly handsome business owner who seemed to think I hung the moon. I was really warming up to him as well, and considering our future options. We had been out a dozen or so times, when Hallow's Eve's Eve gave me a fright! We were hanging out at a bar talking with some people we just met. The election was quickly approaching and out it comes that Tony had already voted absentee/mail in ballot for HitlerVoldemortTrump, a man who scares the bejeezus out of me. A man who has a life-long reputation of being a sexual predator and a scam artist of a businessman. A man who regularly makes racist comments, and (at the time) had two pending trials in the next couple of months for fraud and for the rape of a 13 year old girl.

I told Tony that we needed to just not talk politics (so I could consider what to do with a guy I like who is obviously morally at odds with me). We talked about other things. We left the bar and were headed back home when we passed by a Hollywood iconic hotel and he asked if we could hop out for a drink in the hotel bar. Sure. More drinks sounds like a swell addition to this evening. At the bar, we started talking with the other people bellied up, and lo and behold Tony brings up Trump again! I am pretty drunk, so things get pretty heated. Long story short, I got so mad I got up and left him there! uhmNOthx buh-bye you can keep your selfish reasons for voting for evil.

Next was Johnny*. His online profile pix were dapper and handsome. When we met, his IRL self was moderatly attractive, but I felt no spark at all. On the plus side, we had a blast hanging out! He was hilarious. After 2 beers, I was ready to leave, but he doesn't ask and orders us another round. ...ok... well, I won't be rude, he is sweet, I'll hang out. After beer 3, I say I really must leave, and he very sweetly walks me to my car. I go in to give a polite hug, and he shoves his tongue down my throat. Dude. Johnny. I gave you no indication that I was open to that! Ugh. Next.

Finally I met Tyrone*, a gorgeous tatted up former musician turned real-job-holder. He was funny, smart, not voting for Trump, and seemed to be really my type. We had a first date that turned into practically three dates. Charming, sweet, and seemingly into me. Until he reaveals on date two that he is moving to Phoenix at the end of the month, but if things go well, we can fly back and forth on the weekends to "romp" and if things go really well, maybe more. Well call me flattered, you want to be FWB with me? Ugh. #ByeFelicia

I feel like I'm on an episode of MTV's Next.

But you gotta kiss a bunch of frogs to find your prince, right? Pucker up and kiss it...

*names changed to protect the frogs

Romcom-Reallife

All I learned about love came from cheesy 80's movies, where men vie for the attentions of unattainable women, nerds get the hot girl/guy, bad guys get the good girl, and if you pester someone enough they will fall in love with you.

Nerdy (hot) Patrick Dempsey was willing to spend his hard earned cash for a pretend girlfriend.

Lane was willing to nearly kill himself skiing for Monique

Many moons ago I was engaged to a guy who broke things off, then we got back together, then broke things off, then got back together... and so on, and finally I ended things because of my reasons. But I always held out hope that he would come chasing after me and (in the figurative sense) show up outside of my sister's wedding in a porsche 944.

But, heart-crushingly, he did not. Fortunately with time and wisdom I see that it all turned out for the best, but there is that little 80's kid part of me that still wanted to be worth storming a castle.

Well, last fall I dated a guy Hank* for a few months, and he seemed to be quite the catch. Handsome, funny, considerate, loves animals, liked me... and then he couldn't handle being in a relationship at the same time as having a sick and dying dog. So, things fizzled out. I was really sad, but hiked up my big girl panties and moved on.

Well, the beginning of the year marked a Happy New Year text from Hank, and then he proceeded to spend the next few months "liking" my facebook posts and photos, and then it all culminated with a facebook message (not a text, even though surely he still had my number) that he would like to take me out for dinner. When he returns from working in Boston. In four months.

Uhmm... OK? I mean, sure? Not sure what he wanted from dinner. So I waited. And waited. And then finally a phone call asking me to dinner. I agreed, not knowing what he wanted. My best guess was he felt badly about how things ended and wanted to make amends so that we could "be friends." Sure, buddy, whatever. I had said everything I wanted to say when we ended things, but he didn't really, so maybe he was just holding on to that and needed closure. I figure, free dinner is worth letting him feel better about himself. So I go... and really nothing prepared me for what I was met with.

Hank basically fulfilled my every 80's movie fantasy by letting me know he took full responsibility for how things ended and that he wanted to date me again, if I was willing to date him.

holy sh*t

This is basically what dinner looked like:

the movie where I learned the sax is sexy

I was floored, to say the least. And he was leaving the next day for a trip, then back to Boston for work. But he wanted to fly me to Boston for a date. Lawd have mercy. Every 80's fantasy rolled into one. We ended dinner with me needing to collect my thoughts, and him getting on a plane.

What is next for Hank and I? Not sure... but even if it is nothing, my inner 80's kid is glowing, knowing she is worth fighting for.

Nobody puts Baby in the Corner

*y'all know I never use real names, duh.